Child of Darkness
by SpokenSecrets
Summary: I am a child of darkness. A darkness created to be used against the darkness that fills our city. Born in darkness and carried upon the wing of destruction. I am Nightwing, Gotham is my city, and any who would seek its destruction seek my fury. Even if the day comes when I cannot save it, I will surely avenge it.
1. The Promise

**Child of Darkness**

The Promise

I am a child of darkness. A darkness created to be used against the darkness that fills our city. Fire will be fought with fire and darkness with darkness and shadow and flame will forever be entwined in struggle. My name is Nightwing. I was given another name long ago, and before that yet another name. But this is who I am now. Born in darkness and carried upon the wing of destruction. I am Nightwing, Gotham is my city, and any who would seek its destruction seek my fury. Even if the day comes when I cannot save it, I will surely avenge it.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

A silence fills the air, a harbinger of things to come. Gotham is never this silent, which means that before long the silence will be broken. Broken by the sound of shattering glass, hurrying footsteps, the sound of a gunshot… or screams.

Anger fills me, threatening to control me. But I can't let it, for if I do… I don't know what will happen. It frightens me sometimes. The fury that courses through my veins. It's not always there. Just sometimes. When I watched my parents die. When I first saw my adoptive father beaten to a bloody mess. Whenever injustice rears its ugly head. Why I feel it now, I cannot be certain. The city is quiet, without signs of the evil that lurks deep within. And perhaps that is why I am angry. Evil fills this city, _my_ city, but I don't see it, which means I either can't find it or it is waiting to strike. Or perhaps I am simply paranoid. Perhaps, for once, I can rest, at least for a little while. My eyes close. A sound touches my ear and a rueful smile to my lips. Of course I can't rest. There is no rest for the wicked and therefore none for those who strive to stop them. My eyes open and focus on a place not far distant. Leaping from my perch, I fall into the darkness below.

From the shadows strode a dark figure. Nightwing surveyed the scene and his eyes narrowed. A dumpster was completely turned over, its contents scattered across the ground. Scorch marks blackened several places on the brick walls and there was a long scratch mark across the bricks that led to a knife thrust into a crack in the wall. However, it was what was attached to the knife that had drawn his attention. A card. A card from an ordinary deck. But the image on the card was that of a joker.

* * *

"You know him better than I do. Have fought him longer than I have."

The hard lines around the mouth and chin, some of the only features truly visible of the Batman's face, were not only signs of his current mood, but of a lifetime of fighting crime and seeing things unspeakable. However, even colder was the look in his eyes. It is said that the eyes are the windows to the soul. However, in the case of such a man, the windows were harder to look into; few could stand such a gaze. At the moment, the look of the dark hero of Gotham was even colder as he contemplated his former apprentice and what he had just been told. "The Joker isn't just one of my oldest enemies. He is the oldest."

"I know."

"I've struggled against him for what feels like a lifetime. And yet he always returns."

"He wouldn't if you would finally kill him."

The Dark Knight seemed to loom over Nightwing. Though hardly taller, his presence more than made up for any lack of effect. "You of all people should know not to question my methods."

"Of all people, perhaps I question them the most. Why do you think I left? Perhaps your shadow has been cast too far for too long; you've come to think Gotham can only be protected your way."

"Robin…"

"That is no longer who I am. I've left all that behind."

"And yet you've still returned to ask for my help."

Frustrated, Nightwing turned away, a fire burning in his eyes with a strength to match that of the ice in his mentor's. A hand was laid on his shoulder. His first reaction was to shrug it off, but he didn't, his shoulder only twitching slightly. Despite their differences, there was a bond between them that could not be broken.

"I'm glad you came to me. From what you've told me, the Joker was only creating a disturbance. He wanted you to know he was back. And if he is arrogant enough to announce his presence, then he has a plan."

Nightwing snorted. "The Joker? A plan?"

"He's insane, but he's not crazy."

Quietly, Nightwing laughed. It wasn't an entirely pure laugh, free from darkness and the cares of the world, but it was a laugh all the same and it warmed his mentor's heart, though his scowl never flickered for an instant.

"So if the Joker has a plan, I guess that means we have to have one too."

Batman nodded. "We can't go in blindly. You know what that means."

"Reconnaissance and detective work."

The Dark Knight turned to go, but paused. "Don't get caught."

Nightwing resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I can handle myself."

There was a moment of silence before Batman reiterated his statement. "Don't get caught." Having said this, he disappeared into the darkness without a sound.

"Son of Gotham," Nightwing cursed softly under his breath. "He still thinks I'm a kid."

* * *

Passing a hand over his eyes, Nighwing took another look at the city below from his vantage point on a crane attached to one of the skyscrapers. Exhaustion threatened to force him to quit for the moment, but he fought it off, preferring to stay out despite all that had already happened this night. If the Joker was laying out plans, doubtless insane plans, but plans nonetheless, then innocent people were in danger; Gotham was in danger.

_This is my city. My city is in danger._

He had found out long ago that he could only fight the limits of his body when he reminded himself of what was at stake. Oftentimes when the night was still and nothing stirred and he wanted to go home for the night, he would remind himself why he had to finish his patrol. Why he was awake every night. For darkness hates the light and will hide from it at all cost.

And so he continued his patrol, searching for some sign of the danger that faced Gotham. However, it seemed that for now evil slept and Nightwing had to as well. It was primarily by rooftop that he traveled, however, he couldn't get where he was going without utilizing another method as well. Quietly, his dark boots hit the rooftop one after the other as he ran towards the edge of the building, the side facing an alley. Leaping over the edge and tossing a grappling hook, Nightwing plummeted toward the ground below, falling faster than the rain that had begun to pour moments before. The rope abruptly halted his descent and he allowed his hand to slide along the thick wire until his feet touched the pavement. With a flick of his wrist he detached the hook, and with another small movement of his hand, he caught it as it fell. As he walked, he rolled up the rope and reattached the grappling hook to his belt. The darkness that filled the alley would have been too much for most people to see in, but Nightwing had been born, raised and trained in darkness and so it was of little consequence to him to find his motorcycle where he had left it. It wasn't exactly his, but his adoptive father surely wouldn't have wanted him to leave with nothing. Light shot through the pouring rain accompanied by the sound of an engine revving, then falling silent as it was put into stealth mode, the headlights also disappearing. Nightwing was but a blur beneath the streetlights as he returned home, his search to be continued the following day.

Thoughts of earlier this day blended with memories of another day, another time, the rain bringing back dark recollections of an insane murderer. The same man, if he could be called such, that once again loomed from the shadows. That time he had been only a child. Images filled his mind, but he resisted, shoving the sights and sounds away. However, he suspected that when he finally slept, his mind would be unable the hold back the memories any longer. Nightwing sighed deeply, afraid that his dreams would be twisted into nightmares of the past.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The sound of raindrops striking the pavement was the only sound upon the still air. Robin stood panting, more from fear than anything. His breath was ringing in his ears. Softer than the sounds of the rain and his panicked breathing was the voice of the Joker as it drifted to him from the darkness upon the wind.

"Come out little songbird. Come out and play."

Insanity filled every word, and this frightened Robin more than anything; insanity always had. He dared not call out for Batman, afraid that the Joker would reach him sooner. This fear was justified as the Joker's voice reached his ear from but a few feet away from his hiding place.

"Why do you work for the Bat? I really can't understand. You seem so… different. He's so dark and serious and cold and cruel, though he would probably tell you differently. In fact I'm sure he would. But what are you? His last bit of innocence? For you know that though he calls himself a fighter of crime, he's really no better than a criminal himself. Why do you think he wears the mask?"

The strongest urge to cover his ears came over Robin, but he resisted, knowing it was better not to make any kind of movement. However, he wished he could, for though obviously wicked, the voice was strangely beguiling as well. He knew that if forced to listen to it for too long, his mind could easily slip and he would fall as far as the thief and murderer near him. The Joker was so close that Robin could hear the intake of breath as the fool prepared for another monologue. Unable to take it anymore, the Dark Knight's songbird leaped from his hiding place, flying through the darkness up and then down, his fist connecting with the perpetually grinning upturned face of his foe. The sound created by the collision of fist and face was louder than it should have been, echoing off the tall buildings towering close by. However, even louder was the laughter of the Joker. Again Robin struck and again, until his wrist was encircled by long, almost skeletal, fingers and his attack abruptly halted.

"So, the songbird has a little fight in it after all."

"Go to…!"

"Now, now. We can't have your daddy hear you say such foul language. Oh, that's right, your daddy's dead. The bat just took you in to use you and turn you into one of his own."

"That's a lie!"

"Is it? Is it? Is it?" Maniacal laughter filled the air.

No matter how hard he struggled, Robin couldn't break free. His head hit the pavement before he even knew he was falling and darkness crept into his vision. However, he fought it, refusing to be rendered unconscious. Above him loomed the hideous grin of the maniacal fiend that was the Batman's oldest enemy. But what gleamed even brighter in the gloom was a knife, the blade catching the light of a faraway streetlamp.

His eyes widened in terror and the Joker's smile widened as well. For once the freak said nothing. A scream pierced the air as the blade pierced the flesh of the young boy. Robin could feel the chasm of pain lengthen as the knife was dragged through his chest. Suddenly out of the darkness flew the Dark Knight, colliding with the Joker and sending him tumbling across the ground, the knife flying in another direction. All Robin saw before he blacked out was the grim face of the Batman, emotion for once cutting through the mask as agony filled his heart at the sight of his young ward. Darkness surrounded him. And from the darkness came nothing but pain.

With a wild cry, Nightwing sat up, his eyes wide with terror. Several moments passed before his gaze fell to the hand that was covering his chest. Slowly he let it drop, exposing the scar that stretched across his bare torso. Passing a hand over his eyes, Dick Grayson dropped back onto his bed. However, he found he could not stay there. Rising, he went to the window, raised it and climbed out, scaling the short amount of wall that was between him and the roof. Sitting there, alone in the twilight as dawn threatened to illuminate the sky, his thoughts drifted between the past and the present.

Though already a crime fighter, he had been young, innocent. As innocent as anything could be in Gotham. And yet the Joker had, without remorse, in fact with pleasure, drawn a blade across his body. This was the ruinous hate that he now faced. How many more would be scarred before he managed to stop this insanity. Though nothing had yet happened, he knew that what was to come would come from the realm of nightmares. His nightmares. The same nightmare that had awoken him with such terror.

As scarlet light filled the sky, one might have wondered at the beauty of the sunrise. All Dick Grayson could think of was how very much it looked like blood.

* * *

"Mr. Grayson to see you sir."

"Honestly Alfred, do you have to announce me instead of just letting me in?"

Bruce Wayne beckoned Dick inside and with a nod to Alfred the butler left the room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Dick turned his frustration on Bruce. "Doesn't he remember I used to live here? Now he treats me like a common guest."

With a sigh, Wayne sat down. "He remembers and that's exactly why he has such difficulty with it. He still can't accept that you've left. That you've gone your own way."

"Well I wish he would stop acting so ridiculous."

"It's not Alfred you're actually mad at, is it?"

"No." Dick realized how tense he was and dropped into an armchair facing his adopted father and went through the ritual of relaxing every muscle in his body. Bruce sat silently, waiting for his son to speak. Finally, Dick said, "I had a dream last night. A memory of the Joker."

Mr. Wayne sat up a little straighter, the look in his eye sharpening. "Which time?"

"The first."

Though Wayne's eyes never drifted toward the scar that was concealed by a dark shirt, Dick knew that his thoughts had. Dick's gaze lowered and his grip tightened on the arms of the chair. "What are we going to do?"

"I believe my powerful friend has already told you."

"I mean while I wait for nightfall."

"Do I have to repeat myself?"

Confusion drifted across Dick's gaze.

Bruce leaned forward slightly. "Blend in with the crowds. Ask questions. Talk to people who would avoid you when night has fallen and you've taken up the mask."

"How?"

Mr. Wayne leaned back, a carefree smile coming to his face. "As Dick Grayson, billionaire playboy, adopted son of the legendary Bruce Wayne."

Scowling, Dick turned his eyes to the window. His father's voice brought him back.

"Is it really so difficult?"

"You know I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it. Simply learn to accept and use it."

Dick knew that this position and persona was a valuable asset, but hated it, preferring the identity he had chosen and not the one that had fallen to him. Rising, he shook Wayne's hand and turned to go.

"Oh, and Dick, try to act natural. Remember, you haven't a care in the world."

With a false smile, Dick left the room, the façade falling as soon as the door closed. How very much this deceptive grin reminded him of the Joker.

* * *

Dark laughter filled the air, insanity entwined with every tone.

"Are you alright Mr. Grayson?"

Dick shook his head, ridding himself of the sound and smiled at his beautiful companion. "Of course. Now where were we?"

He was referring to their conversation and not their location, the beauty of the woman next to him of little consequence, what she knew being far more valuable. Though hating this kind of deception Dick had been trained by the master of it and though not as skillful, not having used it his entire life, he was adequately proficient. Surprisingly what seemed stranger than his subterfuge was how she kept calling him 'Mr. Grayson'. Even having lived most of his life with wealth, power and position, it still felt weird being called such at nineteen. Not only would his next move eliminate this annoyance, doubtless she would take it as a compliment and this would further his ultimate goal as well.

"And please, call me by my first name."

"Alright, Dick."

She giggled and he couldn't help considering her very shallow. However, he had been told she had information and so perhaps he wasn't the only one putting on an act.

"I believe you were telling me about your latest investment."

"Of course, but of course I don't know a whole lot about it. My agents take care of most of my business."

Having known the real world far too long, it hurt him on the inside even more than it hurt his face to continue smiling. "Of course."

"But I do know that it's in the shipping business. I wouldn't go into such a venture completely blind."

_Just mostly_, Dick thought. "What sort of shipping business?" he asked out loud.

"Oh, you know. Transporting things from one place to another and that kind of thing."

Nightwing's interest instantly increased. There were a thousand ways the Joker could use that kind of thing to his own advantage.

"Who do you deal with mostly?" he asked.

She took a sip of wine and waved her hand nonchalantly. "As I said, I try not to get too deep into the business side of things. I find it so terribly dull."

Dick wondered how far he could push it before she caught on to the fact that he wasn't just making conversation at a high-class party.

"Not that it really matters, it's just that I find that kind of thing very interesting. Considering who took me in, it's not really all that surprising."

"Oh yes, I've met Mr. Wayne on several occasions and he was terribly nice. He didn't talk about business at all, but I know how involved he is in it. A true industrialist."

"Yes, he is." Words cannot describe the frustration he felt at how slow the conversation was proceeding when instinct told him there was information to be gleaned.

Some of this frustration must have shown on his face, but luckily she took it to be disappointment. "Oh alright, if you really are so interested." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "There's a weapons side to things, that market is terribly profitable. But there's also this sort of rare liquid found in some Asian country that a very specific buyer is very interested in. Only person who will buy it. There doesn't seem to be any real use for it, which is why no one else wants it, but he certainly seems to find it worth the trouble."

She leaned back in her chair with a pleased smile. "There. Satisfied?"

Dick's gaze had wandered to the dancers below, the second floor having a sizeable opening to the floor below with a railing around it. His eyes were unfocused as he appeared to watch the ladies and gentlemen slowly twirl, but his mind was far away.

"Dick?"

His attention returned to his companion as if it had never left. "Yes, thank you. You've given me a lot to think about. I have found this conversation very intriguing. Mr. Wayne is interested in the weapons market as well you know."

Standing, he turned to go.

"Surely you're not leaving?"

"I'm afraid so. I'm… rather tired. I had a late night last night."

"Oh?" she inquired with a knowing smile.

Dick returned the expression, content with her thinking whatever she liked as long as it wasn't that he had been patrolling the rooftops of Gotham searching for an insane murderer.

As he left the party, it struck him as odd that he had achieved more in a tuxedo than a mask. It annoyed him greatly.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

It had taken very little time, and yet quite a bit of persuasion to find the correct shipping yard. Nightwing stood atop a nearby building, watching for any signs of life. He now regretted not asking who this very specific buyer was. However, doubtless that would have been pushing his luck anyway. Besides, Nightwing was confident he could find the name he wanted by the end of the night.

As dusk closed in, so did a dark figure, the afterimage of his silhouette with the sunset surrounding it, fading from memory. The warehouse was already filled with shadows by the time Nightwing entered it through a window set high above the ground. Walking along a beam, he surveyed the scene below, searching for the right opportunity to insert himself into the conversation.

"There's no way."

"I'm telling you, that's what I heard."

"The boss was only joking you."

"I don't think so."

"Then the boss is insane."

A new voice came from the darkness, crisp and calm. "Insane? Now what makes you say that?"

"Who's there?" The man was beginning to show signs of apprehension, however he wasn't nearly as scared as he should have been.

A figure stepped from the shadows, tall and thin with a mask over his face like that of a scarecrow. "He is not insane. His ways are different from yours, that much is certain. However, he is destined to bring Gotham into a new era."

"A time of madness you mean. You must be as crazy as him."

"Oh?"

"Why else would you wear a mask? Especially a mask like that."

"I am his emissary and will follow his instructions in a similar fashion to the way he operates."

"You've got a lot of big words."

"There is even more behind my words than what you hear."

There were four men below. One was the scarecrow. The other two were saying nothing, afraid of provoking this stranger. However, the other man was obviously frustrated and annoyed.

"So tell me this. Why don't we ever see the boss, huh? Why does he never come around?"

"Why would he deal with a lowlife such as you? He gives me his instructions and I pass them on to you."

"That's another thing. I've never seen you before either. How do I know you're really in charge?"

"Because I am."

What happened next, Nightwing couldn't see clearly. However, the man screamed and lay on the floor, his hands covering his face. The other two men were backing away, a split second away from running. However, they were stopped by the man in the mask, authority evident in his voice after his display of power, whatever it had been.

"You can't leave just yet. Finish unloading these crates. After that you must stand and guard them. You won't be leaving for quite some time, I'm afraid."

"What about…?" one man began, glancing at his companion, who was whimpering on the ground.

"Leave him."

Without another word, the scarecrow turned and left, his steps echoing through the large, nearly empty room. His footsteps slowly died away and the men turned to each other with fear in their eyes before returning to their work.

Nightwing hooked his grappling hook around the beam he stood upon and slipped silently down behind a pile of crates, leaving the rope swinging in the air. From the shadows leapt a shadowy demon, the fear already in the ruffian's eyes increasing ten fold as his mouth opened to scream, though no sound made it from his throat. His companion turned at the sound of the man hitting the concrete, but wasn't quick enough to stop himself falling to the ground, his legs swept out from beneath him. A dark boot collided with his skull and unconsciousness found him, darkness covering his vision and his mind. Nightwing stood between his two fallen enemies, pausing only a moment to savor his swift triumph. A whimper drew his attention and he walked over to the man rocking back and forth and crouched down beside him. The thug hadn't even noticed the demise of his fellows.

"What did he do?"

There was no response.

"The scarecrow. Who is he?"

It was like the man couldn't hear him. Like he didn't even know he was there.

"What did he do to you?"  
Frustration filled him and Nightwing tore one of the man's hands away from his face. What he saw was a man completely unhinged, a wild look in his eye and fear in every line of his face. Nightwing drew back, repulsed and, dare he admit it, slightly unnerved.

"Scarecrow… Scarecrow…"

With a growl, Nightwing grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him into the side of the wall, the crash echoing off the walls.

"Who is the scarecrow? What has he done?"

"Run! Hide! Run! Scarecrow!"

Nightwing dropped the man and spun around, his eyes wide with terror, expecting to see Scarecrow behind him. But there was no one. The man was utterly mad, his mind seeing things that weren't really there. Insanity had come over him in the blink of an eye while Nightwing had watched and yet he could not determine how it had been done. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing; all too aware of how much fear had taken hold of him in the short time he had been here. Fear was a powerful ally and this Scarecrow had become a master of it. Glancing at the idiot on the floor, Nightwing decided he was harmless, trapped in his own terrors, and turned to the crates. Retrieving a crowbar from atop one of the boxes, Nightwing pried the lid off of one of the crates and peered inside. Within were containers of a greenish liquid. It was the substance his informant had told him about. The liquid that apparently had no purpose but that a specific buyer was very interested in. Whoever this Scarecrow was, he was obviously working for the Joker and Nightwing could see why. They both dealt in insanity. Suddenly a door crashed open and the warehouse was filled with the footsteps of a dozen people. Sprinting toward the darkness behind the pile of crates, Nightwing climbed back up the rope to the rafters, pulling the cord up after him and securing the grappling hook to his belt. A dozen police officers entered the warehouse with guns drawn and quickly secured the scene, apprehending the three hired hands.

Once again anger threatens to fill me, but I can't let it. Anger that my investigation has been interrupted. But greater than the anger is confusion. Why are cops here? Who tipped them off? What do they think this is? I have to find answers and I won't get those by going down there and asking nicely. It's time to visit an old friend of my father's.

* * *

"Why are your men intruding on my investigation?"

Jim Gordon leaned back in his chair and contemplated the young man in the mask standing before him. Rarely had he dealt with this relatively new vigilante, having most of his interactions with the Batman. Accusation filled the tone of this youth, but Gordon was far from being intimidated. He had worked with the Batman for years against ruthless villains, many of whom were scarier than the Batman himself. However, this new hero showed promise and he was obviously on to something, otherwise he wouldn't be so upset.

"We've been following a group of drug dealers for months and finally caught up to them. I was told that their leader was going to visit the job site tonight and thought that this would be the opportune moment to strike. Unfortunately we missed him by nothing more than minutes by the sound of it. And it seems you had already apprehended the other suspects so there wasn't a whole lot for my men to do except secure the drugs."

"They could be some type of drug, yes. But not like you think."

The police commissioner's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "What do you mean?"

"How much trust do you put in your men?"

"I would trust them with my life. I hand picked every one of the men I work with."

Nightwing glanced at the door and then stepped closer. "I saw the leader of those thugs. He had a mask like a scarecrow and he did something to inspire fear in his men. I couldn't see what, but he drove one of them to insanity."

"My officers told me about that one. They couldn't understand what had happened to him."

"That's not all. This scarecrow person isn't the top of the chain. He works for the Joker."

Silence fell.

Commissioner Gordon stood slowly. "You mean to tell me the Joker is back?"

"Not only is he back, he's already begun whatever mad scheme he has in store for Gotham. And whatever it is, it's connected with the substance in those containers that your men have, hopefully, secured. Call it a drug if you will, but I think it's connected with that man going insane. I think it's something of the Joker's design."

Again the conversation came to a halt as Gordon walked to the open window and stared out at the city bathed in moonlight.

Nightwing waited a moment before speaking again. "You said that someone told you their leader would be there. Who's your contact?"

"I don't know. He never gave a name."

"Can you find him again?"

Gordon turned to Nightwing with a thoughtful expression. "Yes, I think so."  
"Good. Tell me once you have and I'll have a talk with him."

"How will I find _you_?"

Nightwing shrugged. "I'll be around."

The sound of footsteps neared and Gordon turned at the sound. The door opened and one of his officers stepped into the room. Gordon turned to Nightwing only to find that he was no longer there.

"A Batman trick if ever I saw one," he grumbled under his breath.

"What was that sir?"

"Nothing. What is it?"

"That man we nabbed at the drug site got sent to Arkham Asylum. I just got a call from them. They said he won't stop laughing."

Police Commissioner Jim Gordon couldn't exactly say why, but chills crept up his spine.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"What is it?" Robin asked.

Batman turned to him with a worried expression. "It's the Joker."

Chills crept up the boy's spine as fear filled his heart. "I thought you beat him."

"I did. But he's back." Batman turned as if to leave, then paused. "I have to go, but you don't have to come with me you know."

"I want to come," Robin said, lifting his head high, acting as if there weren't a problem.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He hoped his voice hadn't wavered too much.

The Batman hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. Suit up."

The Batcave was now far behind, the safety that filled it also gone. It was cold. Robin's breath lingered upon the air in a mist. He was filled with the same sensations as the last time; fear the greatest of all. However, a new feeling had arisen. Rage filled him. An anger he had never known before, strong enough to overcome the fear. His hands tightened into fists and he closed his eyes so that he could focus only on listening. The sound of a boot touching the pavement reached his ears and he turned, dropping low to avoid being captured like last time, and struck out, aiming for the knee to disable his foe.

The Dark Knight leapt out of the way, his cape billowing around him like wings and landed on one knee, facing his apprentice. It took Robin a moment to comprehend that he wasn't under attack. Adrenaline filled his veins and quickened his breathing. He released his breath all at once and, without knowing why, knelt on the concrete. A tear rolled down his cheek and he shook his head, brushing it away and turning so his mentor wouldn't see.

It wasn't the Batman who laid a hand on Robin's shoulder. It was his father, Bruce Wayne, simply wearing a mask. "It's ok."

"No, it's not. I don't understand what's wrong with me." Frustration filled his voice and anger at his reaction, unable to understand what had come over him.

"You're afraid. And you have every right to be."

"I'm not scared!"

"You were ready to fight, and you would have fought valiantly. But without the need to, your real emotions came over you. You have no need to be ashamed after what happened last time. But we can't let fear control us."

Robin nodded and stood. Once more he found himself looking up at the Batman.

"Come. We'll return to the cave and search for the Joker tomorrow."

Dick Grayson opened his eyes and blinked away the tears. Leaving his bed, he strode to the window and, angrily brushing away the tears, gazed out at the city, cloaked in darkness. He was Nightwing, Gotham's dark hero, but inside he was still a scared little boy. Anger came naturally to him, and he used it to hide. He had discovered how to drown his fear in rage. Dick considered climbing up to the roof, it helped him think, but decided against it. This was the third day since the Joker's return and he still had no idea what the lunatic's plan was. Revenge was long overdue. Though he preferred to think of the danger the Joker posed to Gotham and how he could avert disaster, his inner motives were far from pure. It was revenge he sought for crimes committed long ago that were never fully paid for.

Before journey's end, the Joker would pay in full.

* * *

Bruce Wayne raised his head and turned to look at the open window, the curtains billowing in the breeze. His eyes returned to his work as he called out, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company so soon after last time and returning in such a manner?"

Dick Grayson strode from the shadows, his hands clasped behind his back. "Oh, no reason."

"No reason? Do you also not have a reason for coming in through the window?"

"I didn't want to bother Alfred."

Bruce laughed. "Is that so? It couldn't have been that you thought he would treat you like a stranger?"

"Well…" Dick shrugged.

"Hmmm. And there's no reason for your being here this early?"

"Actually I was hoping you could tell me something."

"Go on."

Dick leaned against the desk his father was sitting at. "What do you know of a man who looks like a scarecrow?"

The body language and look in Bruce's eye told Dick that he finally had his attention; that he finally understood his adopted son hadn't come to his mansion on a whim.

"Scarecrow. He's a psychopath, obsessed with fear and its manipulation. His name was Crane, he worked at Arkham Asylum until his identity was discovered and he disappeared."

"The same place that man was sent to. The man Scarecrow drove to insanity."

"What are you talking about?"

It was only a matter of minutes before Dick had related the events of the night before and Bruce leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. Finally he snapped out of his reverie. "And you say Scarecrow is working with the Joker?"

"For him by the sound of it."

"And the police are holding Scarecrow's drugs?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where?"

Dick shook his head. "No, but I can find out. Also, Gordon is looking for the contact that tipped them off that Scarecrow would be there. I told him I wanted to talk to the man."

Bruce nodded. "Good. Be careful of Scarecrow. He is ruthless and not to be underestimated. I wouldn't count on him following the Joker long. He'll have his own plans in store."

Dick Grayson nodded and crossed the room with swift strides, eager to continue his search. His adopted father's voice stopped him.

"Go through the door this time."

He hesitated before giving in and smiling slightly, walked to the door and left the study, moving swiftly done the stairs and out the front door. His motorcycle was hidden not far away, but it was still farther than it would have been if he had just gone out the window. Dick smiled ruefully. He would patrol Gotham all night, but walking a few extra hundred feet annoyed him. Maybe he really was two different people. Nightwing jogged to his motorcycle and sped away, the sun fully risen shining upon him as the wind swept past his face.

If he really was two separate persons in one body then it was time to find that other identity and go have another talk with Jim Gordon. Perhaps he had managed to find the contact. If he had, Nightwing would rather know sooner rather than later. A quick detour back to his house would be required, that he might don the mask, though in reality he was beginning to wonder whether that was the true mask or if he was really wearing a mask the rest of the time.

* * *

"Have you heard from your contact?"

Commissioner Gordon started and glanced at Nightwing with an annoyed expression. "I thought you people only came around at night."

Nightwing shrugged and locked the door in case one of Gordon's people walked in unannounced. "I'm not a patient person."

"We only talked about this last night," Gordon said, exasperated. "But, as it happens I do know the whereabouts of the informant."

"I'm listening."

"Here," Gordon said, reaching into one of the drawers in his desk and handing Nightwing a slip of paper. "This contains what information you'll need."

"What about the drugs?"

"They're in a secure location."

"Where?"

"I wish I could tell you, but I can't."

The vigilante nodded to Gordon and went to the window, barely pausing to say, "thanks," before disappearing through it.

* * *

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

It wasn't exactly a lie. Nothing was wrong; Nightwing had simply been surprised. But not unpleasantly so. Gordon had given the impression the contact was a man. He was mistaken.

"So what do you want to talk about?"

"Do you often talk to men in masks?"

"Oh you'd be surprised. Why do you ask?"

"You seem very comfortable with the situation."

"Like I said. You'd be surprised," she said with a smile.

Nightwing almost asked what she meant, but decided to begin the interrogation, though a remarkably casual interrogation it was even if they were in a dark alley with the contact's muscular bodyguard standing at a distance.

"You told the police that the leader of a drug operation would be at a certain place at a specific time. How did you know that?"

"Oh he isn't the leader and it's more than a drug operation."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because it's true."

Nightwing paused. The surprises hadn't stopped when he first met her.

"If that man isn't the leader, then who is?"

"The Joker of course."

"I suppose you know about Scarecrow as well."

"Of course."

"And that the drugs are more than what they seem."

"Obviously."

"Who are you?" Nightwing asked.

"I might have connections with the mafia, but don't tell our mutual friends down at the police department," she said with a finger to her lips.

"And you know all this from contacts within the mafia? I find that hard to believe."

"Of course not. I have other ways. Other friends in high places."

Nightwing couldn't help being reminded of Bruce Wayne's habit of referring to Batman as his powerful friend.

"So what else do you know?"

"The men the police captured know nothing. They were just hired hands. The real prize slipped through their fingers."

"Scarecrow."

"Exactly. And perhaps that name is why one of those men knows more than the others."

"The one that went insane?"

"Precisely. And there is someone who won't want that name bandied about. The one to whom the name belongs."

"You think he'll kill the man?"

"It's what I would do."

Nightwing was somewhat taken aback, but his surprise melted away when he remembered that this woman was connected with the mafia.

"And do you know when he's planning this?" Nightwing asked.

"Of course not. But I know he is. If he hasn't already done it."

"Have you told the police?"

She laughed. "No. That's the last time I let them in. They'll only make a mess of things. If I were you I wouldn't tell them either. There might be traitors within their ranks and even if there isn't, incompetence is a dangerous enemy. Use them if you want, but deal with the situation yourself."

Nightwing fell silent and glanced away, thinking about everything he had been told.

"Anything else you want to know?" she asked, breaking through his thoughts.

"What's your name?"

"Helena Bertinelli."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The silence that filled Arkham Asylum was unnerving. Why was it so quiet if it was filled with the insane? Shouldn't there be shouts and screams or whispers, men speaking to themselves or people not really there? Insanity frightened Nightwing more than anything, but he pressed on, determined to find the man from the warehouse. The man Helena Bertinelli thought would soon be killed by the Scarecrow.

Fear would take hold of me, but I won't allow it. I was told that we can't let fear control us. And yet it tries, with ever fiber of its being. Am I weak? Is that why I succumb to my emotions so readily? Nothing but memories from years ago still trigger something within me. Have I learned nothing? Am I a coward? No.

Nightwing's eyes flew open and his lips pressed together in an expression of determination. His breathing was slow and even, almost imperceptible to the ear. Gone from his face and body language was any sign of the fear that had filled him moments before. He continued on down the painfully white hallway, with the bright artificial lights overhead, the smell of narcotics and sterilizers heavy upon the air. Nightwing turned a corner and found himself facing a door. Through the small glass window with tiny bars woven across it, he could see another hallway, this one lined with doors. He was nearing his prey. His hand grasped the doorknob, but found it to be locked. The sound of footsteps behind him suddenly reached his ear. With his back to the wall, Nightwing waited for the unknown person to turn the same corner he had.

The nurse barely had time to comprehend whom she was facing before Nightwing gently laid her on the floor, having pinched an artery that would make unconscious, but not cause serious damage. Nightwing slipped a card from the nurse's belt and ran it through the lock on the door. With a slight buzzing sound, the door opened a crack and Nightwing pushed it open and slipped inside.

Each door had a small window in it and as he passed by, Nightwing glanced into some of the rooms. His thoughts of before now made sense as one or two of the inmates were obviously screaming. Their cells were soundproof, which must have been a great relief to the staff. He was beginning to wonder how he would find the man he was looking for when, with a horrible trepidation slipping into his stomach, he found his answer.

One door was open. Just one. And as Nightwing stepped into the opening and looked inside, his fears were realized. Blood covered the back wall and was splattered on the ceiling. On the floor lay the man from the warehouse, his eyes and mouth wide open as if he had been screaming as he was murdered. He was too late; Scarecrow had already come. With great effort, Nightwing finally managed to avert his eyes. And found himself staring into the eyes of one of the doctors. The man looked at him and then at the bloody room and, before Nightwing could stop him, slammed his hand against the alarm. Immediately the lights shut off, replaced by emergency red lights that pulsed on and off, the hallway alternately being filled with blood and darkness. A siren blared repeatedly and Nightwing clasped his hands to his ears before taking his chance and running through the darkness past the doctor to the door by which he had entered. His hands shook as he passed the stolen keycard through the lock. When finally he had opened the door, he ran through, turning the corner and racing down the plain hallway, unbroken by anything but the scarlet lights above and shadows below. Nightwing halted his mad rush when he reached the stairs. Rising above the sounds of the sirens were the sounds of heavy boots as they raced up the steps. The stairway was such that Nightwing could look down on those approaching. A swat team had been called, several by the look of it and Nightwing turned to the stairs that continued upward, once again unsure of how this could end. As he ran he heard shouts below, but couldn't tell if they were following him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as his boots pounded the steps, hopefully bringing him closer to escape and to freedom. The ruby lights fell behind as calming darkness enveloped him as he reached the rooftop.

However, his sigh of relief came too soon as the sounds of his pursuers drew nearer. Rushing to the side of the building, Nightwing looked down upon the scene below. It was far to the grounds below and on it swarmed police and swat teams, their vehicles filling up whatever space the men did not. And further than them was the high, impenetrable wall that surrounded Arkham Asylum, the only break in it being the front gate, now closed and officers in front of it. A spotlight clicked on and Nightwing ducked behind the low wall surrounding the roof to avoid the shaft of light. His foes were drawing closer and there was nowhere to run. The time for explanation had long gone and doubtless he was now accused of murder as well as trespassing and assault.

Suddenly a voice spoke very near his ear. "Come with me. I've prepared a way out."

Nightwing spun around. Crouched next to him was a woman in a leather suit similar to his own. From what he could see of her face, she was very beautiful, however, a mask covered most of the area around her eyes.

Finally he found his voice. "How?"

The woman stood and repeated her earlier assertion. "Come with me." Having said this, she turned and began walking away to the other side of the rooftop.

Nightwing trusted no one, however when he looked down upon the soldiers below and heard again the steadily rising sound of approaching foes, it didn't seem to matter who it was he was following. Nightwing ran to the other side of the roof and his jaw almost dropped in surprise. A dark helicopter was resting on a pad, its sleek form nearly invisible in the darkness.

"Well, get in."

He couldn't see her, but he could almost hear a smile in her voice. Climbing in through the other side, Nightwing sat down just as the blades began to spin, the sound growing steadily louder, but still softer than the average helicopter. Obviously it was designed for stealth. Suddenly the swat team reached the rooftop. The chopper was no longer unnoticeable and the muzzle flash of guns lighted up the rooftop, filling it with a fiery illumination. The sounds of bullets striking the side of the chopper increased as it rose from the pad. The helicopter dipped low over the rooftop as it sped away into the darkness, leaving Arkham Asylum behind.

Nightwing turned to his rescuer and caught sight of blood in the dim light of the cockpit.

"You're hit."

"What? Oh no, that wasn't them. That bit of nastiness came from Scarecrow."

"What happened?"

"I landed some time after he did. I tried to disable his helicopter, but he came back too soon. We fought and he left me with this," she said, gesturing to the gash on the side of her head, wincing as the movement caused her more pain. But then a wicked smile of satisfaction crossed her face. "But, I left him with a few scars of his own to remember me by."

"Who are you?" Nightwing asked.

"The Huntress."

The conversation ceased for the time being as Nightwing looked out of the glass at the city below. Finally he asked, "Where are we headed?"

"We're following Scarecrow of course. He knocked me unconscious and made his escape, but we're not far behind."

"How did you know he would be here?"

"I may have spoken to the same people you have. I was told he would come to silence one of his men and that you would be here to stop him."

With a sigh, Nightwing turned away. "Your contact seems to put more trust in me than is deserved."

"You mean you came too late? I already knew that. Why else would all of that have been going on? But the real point wasn't to save the man, it was to catch Scarecrow and there's still a chance of that."

"How can you be so sure?"

Huntress's lips curved in a smile. "Maybe I couldn't disable his craft, but I did manage to put a tracking device on it. Like I said before, we're not far behind."

"How did he get a hold of a…"

"It's the Joker's of course," Huntress interrupted. "Almost all of Scarecrow's toys come from the Joker. How _he_ acquires them is another matter."

"So what's the plan if we catch up to him?"

"We kill him."

"No."

"No?"

"Normally I would agree with you, though my mentor would not, but Scarecrow's only a means to an end."

"But of course, you're really after the Joker."

"Exactly."

"Just because he's the top of the chain?"

"No, though that's part of it. There are personal wrongs that need to be righted."

"Revenge." Huntress smiled as she said the word. "How fascinating. What did he do to you? Kill your family?"

Nightwing felt a swift, slight pain in his chest, but ignored it. "No, though they are dead, they were killed by someone else."

"Who?"

"Where do you think he's headed?" Nightwing asked, changing the subject.

Huntress obviously knew what he had done, but allowed him the liberty, knowing what it was to lose family. "I'm not sure. I guess we'll find out when we get there."


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The building that faced them was at one time a large theater. However, neglect, vandalism and time, which eventually destroys all things, had taken their toll on what was once a beautiful piece of architecture, turning it into a dilapidated, rundown structure with a look similar to that of a haunted mansion. In the field behind the theater was the Scarecrow's helicopter. Huntress had landed her craft a moderate distance from the hideout, so that they could approach more stealthily on foot. Now Nightwing stood behind a pillar that was one side of the arch that surrounded the main gate, and peered around it at the Scarecrow's lair, hoping that the Joker was also inside. Long had he waited for this moment, and above all he didn't want to miss his chance by making a stupid move. On the other side of the gate, with her back to the cracked stone, was the Huntress. Their eyes met and Nightwing glanced toward the theater. Huntress shook her head and gestured toward the other side of the building, and Nightwing nodded his agreement. Though he would love to come walking in through the front door, it would likely prove a fatal mistake. He was confident in his skills, but not overconfident. He knew his limits and that was a strength, not a weakness.

Nightwing followed Huntress around to the side of the theater, his eye immediately spotting his way in. Silently, he pointed to the skylight on the slanted roof. A swift glance across the almost sheer wall and Huntress turned to him and raised her eyebrows, apparently interested in how he intended to reach the high window. With a slight grin, Nightwing took his grappling hook from his belt and twirled it a few times before sending the hook flying toward the rooftop. Though a far more difficult task than some might think, Nightwing had done this many times before and the sharp hook caught immediately upon his first attempt.

"And here I was thinking that maybe you could fly," Huntress whispered with a mock disappointed shake of her head.

"No, though sometimes I forget, but that tends to get me into trouble."

"I should think it would."

"My mentor couldn't exactly fly, but his enemies thought he could. Fear is a powerful tool."

"Who was your mentor?"

"I trained under the Batman."

Huntress raised her eyebrows and glanced up at the skylight before turning to him again. "You say fear is a powerful ally. Isn't that what Scarecrow and Joker believe as well?"

Her comment touched a nerve. "I'm nothing like them," Nightwing growled; gripping the rope and beginning his ascent, hand over hand, practically walking up the side of the building. When he reached the top, Nightwing, crouching low, moved to the skylight and looked down into the room below. There appeared to be no one within, so he raised the skylight, breaking the rusty lock with ease.

Huntress climbed up beside him and pulled the rope up after her, handing Nightwing his grappling hook, which he absentmindedly attached to his belt.

"You know, I was simply thinking out loud; I didn't mean it."

Nightwing bowed his head. "One of the reasons I got so angry is that sometimes I think it's true. Sometimes I feel no better than them."

"But you are. I've faced people like them many times and you're very different."

"But I have the same darkness within. I can feel the monster stirring at times though I suppress and ignore it."

"And that's what makes you different. You've chosen to fight the monster instead of succumbing to it."

For some reason, Nightwing felt he couldn't look at her right now, so he continued to stare into the dark room below. "We've waited far too long. Scarecrow's here somewhere and the Joker could be as well. I won't let them escape me again."

Having said this, he dropped through the skylight, landing lightly on the dusty carpet. Huntress was only a second behind him and together they walked along the dark halls, silence surrounding them, pressing in from all sides, oppressive because it made no sense. Where were Scarecrow and his thugs? Where was the Joker?

"Where is he?" Nightwing growled.

Huntress didn't have to ask whom he was talking about. "You confuse me. You want to kill the Joker don't you?"

"Yes."  
"For revenge?"

Nightwing hesitated. "Yes and no. I have my own quarrel to settle with him, but that's not all. He's lived too long, caused too much damage. His time is at an end."

"And you're the one to decide that?"

"Why not?"

"Isn't that the monster you speak of? Trust me, I have to problem with finishing off the Joker; it's just that you're confusing to me. I can't figure you out, and I can usually tell who a person is pretty quickly."

Nightwing sighed, in no mood to search his soul at the moment. Anger threatened to build inside of him, not at Huntress, but at the fact that though they had never paused their search, they still hadn't seen any sign of the enemy. This theater was beginning to feel like an unending labyrinth. Where was his prey?

_"Though he calls himself a fighter of crime, he's really no better than a criminal himself. Why do you think he wears the mask?"_

Nightwing shook his head, trying to rid himself of the Joker's words.

_Fire will be fought with fire and darkness with darkness and shadow and flame will forever be entwined in struggle. _

Though I call myself a fighter of crime, I fight fire with fire and darkness with darkness and am therefore no better than the criminals whose defeat I seek. The Joker is a murderer and so I am determined to bring about his death. Maybe my father was right after all. Maybe my doubts aren't lies after all. Maybe even the Joker was right. No. I refuse to believe that. He's nothing but a liar and a murderer. I wished his swift descent to hell years ago and my feelings haven't changed. And if he is to die, then it should be by my hand.

Nightwing's pace had quickened, a dark fire burning in his eyes. Huntress had observed his silence and sensed the struggle within and it was now obvious to her that he had made a decision. She only hoped it wouldn't cause him to act rashly. Despite herself, she had begun to like the dark, handsome vigilante, and her hopes that he wouldn't get them into a sticky situation weren't entirely selfish.

Suddenly they turned a corner and Nightwing stepped back to avoid being seen. They had come upon a balcony overlooking most of the room below, the most prominent feature being the stage covering one end. Surrounding it were dozens of identical crates, stacked and piled on top of each other, while upon the stage itself knelt a man with medium length grey hair, his hands tied behind his back. He lifted his face, the most prominent features being a large mustache and glasses, and Nightwing's eyes narrowed, realizing in one terrible moment what it was he was seeing. Commissioner Gordon had been captured by the Joker and the crates obviously held the drugs, recovered by their original caretakers. The madman had taken the police commissioner and discovered the whereabouts of his weapons of insanity.

I curse myself for leaving Gordon's office without finding out the locations of the drugs and securing them. Helena Bertinelli had warned me that the police force was filled with traitors, incompetence or both, the combination posing a serious threat to the safety of Gotham. She was right. There was too much to focus on, I had been too eager to meet Gordon's contact, and what I learned had been of extreme value, but I didn't give enough thought to the Joker's weapons, which for a short time were in our possession, but that we allowed to slip through our fingers. I shake my head. It's not my fault; that was Gordon's job. However, deep down I know this isn't true and guilt and shame fill me. Even if it wasn't my duty to guard them, I must now recover them before the drugs are put to the Joker's use. But Gordon's down there, the Joker doubtless near, or at the very least Scarecrow. Either way, the commissioner is in danger and I can't just go in fighting.

Nightwing scanned the scene below, then went over it again, searching every corner. Commissioner Gordon appeared to be the only one in the room, but he knew that wasn't true. Though apparently safe, tension filled the air, adrenaline coursing through his veins with no way to release it. More than ever before, he wanted to fight, but he had to wait, had to watch, had to be sure he wasn't walking into a trap.

"What are you waiting for?" Huntress asked in an impatient whisper.

"I don't want to walk into a trap," Nightwing replied.

"But you already have."

Nightwing spun around and came face to face with Scarecrow. Suddenly a rope was tightened around his neck and he was thrown backwards onto the ground, suffocating, winded and caught completely by surprise. Huntress struck one of Scarecrow's thugs across the face, blood leaving the man's mouth along with a tooth. From behind her came the Scarecrow. Huntress turned, but Scarecrow gripped her by her throat, holding her at arms length as some sort of mist drifted over her face. Her eyes widened in terror as Nightwing's vision darkened as he swiftly lost consciousness. The last thing he saw before falling into the black was Huntress collapsing, the Scarecrow towering over her, triumphant.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"I don't fear you."

"Then tell me, what do you fear?" The Scarecrow leaned in closer. "What do you fear most?"

Nightwing knelt before the Scarecrow in a position of submission, but defiance filled every part of his expression and body language. He remained silent before the question raised against him and Scarecrow raised himself to his full height.

A slight smile, cold and cruel, came to the corner of Scarecrow's lips. "What about failure? Do you fear that? Does remaining in captivity while I, at my master's command, bring Gotham to its knees raise any emotions?"

"That won't happen, so I really couldn't tell you."

"You consider another outcome to be possible? Let me assure you, there is only one way this will end and that is in insanity, chaos, and fear."

"You're wrong."

"Am I?"

With but a gesture with his hand, Scarecrow ordered his men to bring Huntress forward into Nightwing's area of vision. Swooping down like a bird of prey, Scarecrow gripped Nightwing by his jaw and forced him to look at his ally. A blade pierced his heart as he gazed at Huntress, brought low, trembling and glancing about with fear in her eyes. All that she was had been replaced with fear and a touch of insanity.

Twisting Nightwing back to face him, Scarecrow leaned closer, his breath hot upon Nightwing's face. "Imagine all of Gotham like that. I am many things, but I'm no liar. I have carefully calculated all of the odds and reached only one conclusion. Gotham will fall."

With a violent wrench of his head, Nightwing tore himself out of Scarecrow's grasp and gazed down at the ground, unable to bear looking at Huntress again, and unwilling to face Scarecrow. The demon in the mask like that of a scarecrow turned away, satisfied. A soft, calm voice interrupted his thoughts of victory.

"How do you expect to win?"

Scarecrow turned back to the young vigilante kneeling on the ground, his head still bowed.

"How do you think you will succeed after showing me what you can do, after telling me what you will do to Gotham? After breaking one of my own and threatening to do the same to my city? How can you think I will stand by and do nothing?" The voice was beginning to lose its softness and calm, venom lacing every word. Nightwing raised his head to face his enemy, his eyes as dark as night. "I will die before I watch you destroy what I hold dear."

Scarecrow's long, thin fingers encircled Nightwing's throat. "I'm counting on it."

Nightwing could feel the chains that held his hands and feet together slowly slipping as his bloody wrists pulled away from their brutal captivity. But he couldn't get away fast enough for Scarecrow was tightening his grip, crushing the life from his body. His thumbs were caught, the metal refusing to slip away. Nightwing struggled, but could not break free. Darkness filled his mind as he slowly felt life slip away, as darkness filled his heart, hatred towards this monster. Pain shot up his arms to join the pain in his throat as his thumbs broke. But it was too late; he was already falling into the abyss.

Finally I feel peace. The pain, the anger, the sorrow, the fear is all gone. I can finally rest. My struggle has been long and filled with nothing but darkness. Born into a dark world I can finally escape. My mantle will be left for someone else to lift, my burden for those I leave behind to bear. Someone will save Gotham. It will not be left to insanity. Glass shattering as shouts fill the air, fear tangible in every voice. An explosion, small, almost more for distraction than to cause damage. The sounds of shattering bone and blood falling upon the ground. All is muffled and yet so clear, the clarity growing with every moment as pain fills my body, strongest in my wrists, thumbs and throat. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't get anything through my broken throat into my empty lungs. A cough racks my body and a breath enters my lungs. My head hurts and swims. I'm so dizzy, blood and oxygen kept from my brain. It's hard to think. I can't just lie here. Bloody and broken, but I can't just lie here. My hands are useless, but free. I have to get up. Have to get up. Have to return to the land of the living so that my city isn't brought down to the world of the dead.

Nightwing's eyes snapped open and he struggled to his knees, his vision swimming, blurs of color moving all too quickly. Suddenly someone grabbed him by the elbow, trying to lift him to his feet. Nightwing lashed out, but knew he wouldn't be able to escape. His arms felt weak, heavy and even if his fist connected with anything, it wouldn't do any damage. A strong, firm, dark voice entered his thoughts. He knew the voice. It wasn't just in his thoughts. The Dark Knight was here. The Batman had come. Nightwing looked up into the face, so familiar, so dark, so furious, and yet so comforting. With his father's help, Nightwing stood, his senses returning to him all too quickly. He tried to shout a warning, but his voice refused to respond and he fell to one knee as the Batman was thrown to the ground. Light shone off a blade, raised in the darkness. Nightwing knew that blade. It was one used by the Joker. The same blade that had pierced his flesh and left him with more than a physical scar. It rose and then began to descend towards his father, time seeming to slow. With a great effort, Nightwing threw himself at his enemy.

They tumbled across the ground, Nightwing's hand striking the hand that held the blade. He cried out from the pain as his broken thumb was jarred, but it was enough to break his enemy's grip and he wrestled the knife away, gripping the weapon tightly despite the pain it caused him. Raising the blade high, he prepared to sink it deep into the flesh of the Joker.

Nightwing hesitated as he saw that it was not the Joker. It was Scarecrow. He brought the knife down anyway; glad to be rid of this monster, his death just compensation for what he had done to Huntress and what he planned to do to Gotham. But his hesitation was all that Scarecrow needed. Throwing Nightwing to one side, Scarecrow rose to his feet, bringing his boot crashing down on the hand that held the knife. Nightwing screamed and Scarecrow easily retrieved the blade. Out of the darkness flew Batman. Scarecrow raised the knife as the Dark Knight collided with him, throwing him across the room.

The Dark Knight was always terrifying, but when his fury was brought forth there was nothing to match it. Despite their disagreements, Nightwing was still his son and to see him bloody and broken brought forth all of the darkness that Robin had been meant to lighten. But Robin had grown darker, becoming Nightwing and the darkness that at this moment filled Batman was greater still. Never before had he felt murder take his heart as it did now.

Scarecrow had barely raised himself from the floor before his head was thrown back as a boot connected with his face. Blood spurted and Scarecrow screamed. Desperately, his hand sought one of his devices that shot forth the gas that was his agent of fear. He raised it, the mist bursting forth, but Batman brought his boot down upon Scarecrow's arm, the gas uselessly drifting across the floor. The Dark Knight raised Scarecrow by his throat, lifting him completely off the ground before letting him drop, having rendered him unconscious.

Nightwing struggled to his feet, but collapsed again, his body weak and filled with pain. Batman was beside him in a matter of seconds.

"What…" His voice was weak, strangled and came out as barely a whisper. Nightwing coughed and tried again. "What happened to Huntress?"

Batman glanced around the room, filled with the bodies of Scarecrow and his unconscious men. Nightwing followed his father's gaze.

"Where is she?" he whispered hoarsely.

"I don't know."

"We have to find her."

"You are my first priority."

"Who knows where she is. She could have been captured and taken away or be wandering around Gotham half out of her mind. She needs help."  
"Why do you care so much?"

"I… don't know," Nightwing said, finding it hard to think. It was far easier to feel. And right now he felt that Huntress needed him.

"I'll search for her after I alert the police of what has happened here so they can clean up the mess, and after I take you back to the cave."

Nightwing wanted to argue, but found he couldn't. He simply leaned against the Batman as his father's blood fell upon him.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

It was almost silent, but the sound of steadily dripping water brought Nightwing's eyes fluttering open. He was in the cave. He was safe. Propping himself up on his elbows, he glanced around the cavern. A flash of movement caught his eye and tension instantly filled his body.

"It's okay." It was Bruce Wayne. "Lie back down. You need rest."

Nightwing did as he was told, but he couldn't feel restful. "Did you find her?"

Bruce ran a hand through his dark hair. "The police came and took away Scarecrow and his men while I brought you back here. They've locked them away, but I don't feel certain that they'll stay that way. I need to go back and check up on Scarecrow. I tried to talk to Gordon, but couldn't find him so I went looking for this Huntress you're so interested in. But she seems to have disappeared."

Nightwing sat up, ignoring the rush of blood to his head. "What do you mean, you couldn't find Gordon?"

Confused, Bruce asked, "Are you still out of it? It's not that hard of a statement to understand."

"Gordon was in the theater."

"What?"

"Scarecrow captured him before he found me and Huntress. He was in that room with us when you came in."

"I never saw him."

"He was there," Nightwing insisted. "Something must have happened to him as well."

Bruce stared at Nightwing as a grim look entered his eye. "What do you think happened?"

Gingerly, Nightwing touched the side of his head, but decided not to rest his head on it for the pain in his wrists and thumbs were greater than the pain in his head. "Some of Scarecrow's men must have taken him away shortly before you arrived. Huntress disappeared during the battle, which could either mean that she was also taken or that in her terrified, unstable state, she wandered away, fleeing the source of her fear."

Silently, Bruce stood and thought before saying, "Come with me."

He turned and walked away and Nightwing carefully stood and followed, holding his bandaged hands awkwardly. Cautiously, Bruce lifted a vial from some sort of scientific apparatus that Dick had never been particularly interested in. However, it seemed it had a purpose after all. Turning to Nightwing, Bruce gestured toward the glass.

Nightwing shrugged. "What is it?"

"The liquid you found in the crates. A liquid that when turned into a gas can be internalized through the lungs and create deep feelings of fear and, or insanity. From what I can tell, the effects are temporary unless continued for an extended length of time. Exactly how long, I'm not sure."

Nightwing turned and began to walk away.

"Where are you going?"

"To find Huntress."

"You're no good to anyone with your hands in that condition. Besides, you're still feeling the effects of almost having your windpipe crushed and being suffocated. You're not thinking straight."

"My thinking is fine."

"Oh? And what do you plan to do once you've found her?"

Nightwing stopped and glanced back at Bruce. Wayne took a few steps toward him.

"I've been working on an antidote, but it still needs to be refined. From what I've observed, we still have some time before the effects become permanent. Besides, I have something for you."

Nightwing hesitated.

"Dick, you can't do this on your own."

He knew his father was right, but didn't want to admit it. However, he followed Bruce back past the scientific tools and equipment to the armory. Walking to a workbench, Bruce picked up a gauntlet and gestured for Nightwing to approach. His gauntlets had been removed, replaced by bandages that were wrapped around his hands like gloves and Bruce gently slid the gauntlet over Nightwing's hand. Comfortable, flexible but firm on the inside, the part for the thumb adding extra support, Nightwing flexed his hand without pain. Making a fist, Nightwing tapped the gauntlet with his other hand, then struck the wall. Wincing, he shook his hand to dull the slight pain, causing a smile to come to his father's face.

"They're designed to help, but they're not quite up to full fighting force. What can I say, I made them on short notice."

Dick glanced at his father, not wanting to say the words he thought he should. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And that's not all, I've added some extra compartments and gadgets to them as well."

"Good. You'll have to give me a quick rundown on what these are capable of before I leave," Nightwing said, slipping on his other gauntlet.

There was an awkward moment of quiet as neither spoke, their relationship unsure, both wanting to reunite while having their own reasons for not doing so.

"You should keep working on the antidote. I want to leave as soon as it's finished."

"I will, but I want to go with you. We'll cover more ground that way."

"Find Gordon. I'll look for Huntress."

"They could be in the same place."

Nightwing shook his head. "Somehow I don't think so."

* * *

The night wasn't oppressive, but comforting. Nightwing halted on a high rooftop and closing his eyes, sighed deeply. However, the sigh came not from the comforting darkness, but from the turmoil within. How could he find Huntress in this vast city while wandering around with no method to his madness? It was impossible. And why did he care at all? He barely knew her, had only met her a few nights ago. But somehow in that short time he had felt a kindred spirit. Someone who understood him better than his adopted father ever had. Though she said she couldn't figure him out, deep down he thought she knew. While knowing nothing of her past, doubtless there were similarities to his own. Besides, there was something else there. A spark. An emotion he hadn't felt in a long time. He had first felt it years ago in the circus. As Robin he had been so focused on his training and the secret world he had been thrust into that Dick Grayson had just never been interested. Well, almost never. And later… Nightwing shook his head, a scowl to rival the Batman's coming across his face. This road had always led to sorrow. Contributed to the darkness he was falling into. Every time he lost a part of himself. The darkness wasn't oppressive, but comforting. The darkness around his heart protected it.

Pushing these thoughts away, Nightwing concentrated on his search, trying to think of the best path to pursue. He couldn't believe how slow he was being. He must still be suffering from what Scarecrow had done to him. The answer was obvious.

* * *

Rage and confusion filled him as he took in his surroundings from his position atop the theater. However, these feelings lasted only a moment as he realized that the men loading the crates into semi trucks were police officers and not Scarecrow's men. Relieved and eager to continue the hunt, Nightwing attached his grappling hook and swung into an open window directly below him.

The gloom gave way as Nightwing approached the balcony overlooking the primary scene of the crime. Bright lights had been set up at various points and the police were swarming over the area. Perhaps not exactly swarming, but to a man accused of trespassing, assault, and murder, it seemed that way. There could be no conversation between them and Nightwing and Dick Grayson had no reason for being here. Looking for clues that would lead him to Huntress would be hard enough without having to dodge everyone else who seemed so eager to investigate the area. Peering around the corner, Nightwing scanned the scene until he found the place where he had last seen Huntress. She had been kneeling on the ground, glancing about wildly, but mostly keeping her head down, fear in her eyes. Where had she gone after that? His gaze drifted to the stage where Gordon had been. He hadn't seemed to be under the effects of Scarecrow's agents of fear. He must have been taken; there was no reason for him to run. And it must have been through the backstage, away from the battle. Doubtless there was a back door he was taken through. But had Huntress been taken the same way? And if so, where were they now?

With silent footsteps, Nightwing turned away from the balcony and ran lightly through the hallways of the theater, making his way toward the backstage. If there were any leads, they would be there. Suddenly he froze, glancing out a window as the sound of gunshots reached his ears. Below him were the trucks the crates had been loaded into. Nightwing's eyes widened as he caught sight of a familiar figure, utterly insane, laughing as he shot down the officers that stood in his way. It was the Joker. Around him stood his henchmen, flooding the scene, taking the place of the police as they were cut down or fell to the ground screaming or laughing, a mist sweeping over them.

Taking a few steps back, Nightwing ran at the window, the sounds of the guns masking the sound of shattering glass as a dark figure plummeted toward the ground. Turning in midair, Nightwing threw a grappling hook, which caught the window ledge, halting his decent and turning it into a swooping motion. Nightwing landed in the shadows surrounding the theater and began walking towards the Joker, every emotion he had ever felt towards this madman racing through his head and heart, while on the outside showed nothing but cold calm, revenge so near at hand. Suddenly someone grabbed him by the arm. Nightwing twisted his attacker's wrist, bringing his fist around to crash into his foe's skull. The Batman grabbed his fist in mid strike and they stood facing each other for a few moments, Nightwing breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through his veins while the Dark Knight wore his usual scowl.

"Let go," Nightwing growled.

"You need to think before you act. Coming at the Joker directly isn't what needs to be done."

"What are you doing here?"

"I had the same idea as you. To return to the site of the battle. The place from which they disappeared."

Nightwing ripped his arm out of Batman's grip and turned toward the Joker.

"Your emotions are clouding your judgment," Batman snarled. "The best outcome of attacking now would be to capture the Joker. But we still wouldn't know where Gordon and Huntress are."

Nightwing hesitated, torn between his hatred for the Joker and his, dare he call it, love for Huntress. Finally he said quietly, "So we follow them."

The Dark Knight nodded, the movement unnoticed by Nightwing who was still staring at the Joker as he climbed into the driver's seat of the semi truck and began to drive away. The other trucks followed, forming a caravan, as Nightwing followed Batman to the alley behind the theater. The sound of the engine coming to life was soft, the vehicle only a dark form drifting through the shadows as they followed the Joker.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The rain beat down, forming millions of ripples across the surface of the river. Thunder played in the background though there wasn't any sign of lightning. The Joker's long green hair was plastered to his head, the white paint on his face running down, making it appear as if he were melting.

"I always knew he was a witch," Nightwing muttered under his breath.

Batman slowly turned his head to give him a look, which he ignored, before facing forward again.

The building that faced them gave Nightwing a worse feeling than any of the others and he couldn't exactly say why. It appeared to have once been some kind of factory, large barn doors leading into a sort of warehouse. After the trucks had gone through, the Joker's men closed the doors, the sound audible even from a distance. Looming ominously above them were several smokestacks, nothing issuing from their dark depths, which somehow implied something more terrible than if they were functioning, like the calm before the storm.

"Remember," Batman whispered hoarsely, "we find Huntress and Gordon before we deal with Joker. Time is of the essence; I don't know how long their sanity can last."

"I don't think Gordon was given the gas," Nightwing replied, eyeing the building before him, looking for possible entrances.

"Good," Batman said. However, he didn't take his eye off Nightwing. He knew the struggle raging within him and only hoped that whatever he felt for Huntress would overcome his desire for revenge.

Meanwhile, Nightwing had been eyeing the wide, cylindrical smokestacks, a horrible idea forming in his mind. "Could Joker use this factory to pump the gas into the air?"

Batman hesitated, then shook his head. "Not likely. They would have to produce an enormous amount to have any effect."

"But… once in the air it would linger and come on slowly."

"I'm not saying he can't use it, it just wouldn't have enough potency to drive someone insane, just sick for a while. Unless…"

"Unless?"  
"…Unless it was heavily produced and sustained for a long period of time. So if he's planning to use that method, we have a lot of time to stop him."

Nightwing nodded, however he wasn't entirely reassured.

The Joker and his men had disappeared through the double doors a long time ago and there didn't appear to be any activity, the windows set too high in the walls to get a look inside.

"We should split up."

The Dark Knight studied him for a moment, evaluating the motives behind Nightwing's plan. They had been crouched behind the dark vehicle they had come in, but now Batman stood, looming over his former apprentice. Refusing to be intimidated, Nightwing stood, face to face with the Batman, their eyes locked. "Don't do anything rash," the Dark Knight growled.

"Rash? Me? Never." Batman grabbed him by the arm, but Nightwing threw his hand off, a cocky smile upon his lips. "Don't wait up for me."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind a man with a heavy scowl, but an even heavier heart.

* * *

The moment of lightheartedness had drawn Nightwing back to the time when he had been the light at the side of the darkness. However, it had only lasted a moment. His innocence was gone, never to return, replaced by burning flames that drove him onward in his hunt.

I stand with my back pressed against the wall, a door to my left. The rough bricks dig into my flesh, but I don't move. It's cold. The rain pouring down. The seasons must be shifting. I can see my breath upon the air and feel the cold grip my heart. Try as hard as I can, it is impossible to resist. I have lost myself, replaced by someone I can't stand; someone I hate. Who am I? How could I allow the dark and the cold to steal my heart away? When did I catch fire, a burning hatred coursing through my veins? When did the darkness I was meant to fight consume me? When did murder become my desire? When did I stoop to the Joker's level? No! I will never, can never, be like him. The world would be better if he were dead. I'm finally fulfilling the role my father never could. I'm finally freeing Gotham from the Joker's reign of terror. I've become the hero the Batman could never be. A footstep reaches my ear and my body tenses. One of the Joker's men opens the door and steps through. Grabbing the man by the neck, I draw him close to me, twisting his neck until it breaks and gently laying his lifeless body upon the cold ground. Not a scream pierced the air, not a sound out of the ordinary. No one noticed. Almost no one. My eyes drift down to my hands. They tremble ever so slightly. I have killed for the first time. For all the times I've spoken of it, now I've done it. And it wasn't the Joker. But it was a step towards the Joker. I raise my head, my eyes narrowed. I've chosen my path. I'm past the point of no return.

Nightwing crept silently through the door, drifting through the shadows. His fists clenched, reminding him of his new gauntlets. His mind automatically took their new capabilities and applied them in ways they had never been intended to perform. He had fallen unrestrained, without hesitation down the rabbit hole and there was no desire left within him to come back. He entered a hallway and found himself facing a guard twenty feet away. Firing a grappling hook from his gauntlet, he twisted the line so that it wrapped around the guard's neck. With a violent pull, Nightwing brought the man closer, unable to breathe, struggling with the line wrapped around his throat, then ran and jumped kicking the sentinel in the head, hearing his neck crack. Nightwing landed lightly on the ground, the sound of the body falling behind him coming only a second later. He didn't look back.

The hallway led to the main warehouse of the factory and Nightwing found himself standing atop a balcony looking down at the trucks parked below. Most of the crates had already been unloaded, stacked high. The Joker was nowhere in sight, but there were at least a dozen of his men below, some unloading the last few crates, most standing around holding guns. Nightwing hesitated, but only for a moment. The gas was a threat to his city and he needed to eliminate it. However, guns don't kill people. It's the monster carrying the weapon that carries out the evil. The one holding the gun was the Joker and he was the one who must be annihilated. Nightwing turned to continue his search when several people entered the hallway. Firing a grappling hook that wrapped around a pipe overhead, Nightwing climbed up, holding onto the pipe, hidden in shadow. A familiar voice reached his ear and it took every ounce of willpower he had left to not drop down into the hallway and finally face his foe.

"… And how is our guest?"

"Which one?"

"The pretty one you fool."

Silence was the answer and it went on a little too long, for the Joker spoke again. "Has she started laughing yet?" Sick glee laced the question.

"No… sir."

The Joker led the way, one man beside him and another trailing behind. They had reached the end of the hallway and at these words the Joker stopped, directly below Nightwing, and faced his men.

"What?"

The lackey now appeared nervous, fidgeting with the ripped cuff of his sleeve. "She's fighting the gas."

"Fighting it?"

"Yeah… resisting."

Silence filled the room and the Joker began to turn away, the lackey relaxing somewhat. Suddenly the Joker spun around, his face only inches from his minion, his face filled with rage, spittle flying from his mouth. "I know what you're trying to say, fool! So, she's resisting is she? I'll give her something to resist. Some would say I'm irresistible. It's my charming personality, isn't it, moron?"

The man began to stutter something.  
"Get out of my way!" the Joker screamed.

Throwing the man into the wall, the Joker stormed past him, muttering loudly and rapidly. The other man, a gun in hand, gave his companion a look as if to say he wouldn't last long before following the madman. The lackey took a moment to recover before making as if to follow the others. He didn't get far. A dark form dropped from above and brought him to the ground without a sound. He would never make another mistake. Nightwing dragged the body into a shadowy corner before following the Joker, careful not to be seen.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Nightwing hid several times along the way as guards, messengers and other of the Joker's men went past, some carrying odd instruments whose purpose he could only guess at. It helped that there was very little light in this place, however this benefit lessened as he continued, the Joker's path twisting and turning, but always going down. And as they went down, the lights overhead became brighter and closer together. He began to suspect that there wasn't just a basement below the old factory, but a labyrinth of tunnels and rooms.

The Joker was leading him straight to Huntress, and Nightwing felt a pang of guilt as he realized that he had completely forgotten about her, consumed with thoughts of the Joker. For some reason he cared about her. More than he should. Not only did it not make sense, it could get in the way if the Joker ever used her as leverage.

Brick had given way to concrete, the cold intensifying, naked bulbs placed unevenly, but frequently in a line down roughly the center of the ceiling.

Coming around a corner a little too fast, Nightwing shrank back behind the wall, peering around it at the small group ahead. The Joker stood with one of his men behind him, facing two guards standing on either side of an iron door with a small window near the top that could be slid open. For once the Joker was silent, staring at the guards who began to fidget before his frightening gaze.

"I hear she has yet to start laughing. Why isn't she laughing?"

The guards glanced at each other before one spoke. "Perhaps the dose wasn't big enough."

"Perhaps the dose wasn't big enough," Joker repeated, imitating the man in a high, obnoxious voice. His tone dropped to a lower pitch, his eyes narrowed. "It doesn't matter how much she got, fool, my laughing gas is very, very powerful. Everyone has insanity inside their head; I just help them realize their true potential. It only takes one small push and they've fallen over the edge, down the rabbit hole, into wonderland, gone." He gestured as if he were pushing someone off a cliff and when he said 'gone' there was a sense of heavy finality surrounding the word.

"She's… fighting it somehow. Resisting the full effects."

"What did I just tell you?" Joker screamed, inches from the guard's face. "You can't fight insanity! It grips the mind, distorts the senses, strips you of all morality, of all reason. The world is a different place when seen through different eyes. Through the eyes of madness. You say she's fighting? I say you're a liar." The Joker drew a switchblade from somewhere in his dark purple coat. Before the man could do anything, the blade was in his mouth, the Joker grasping him firmly by the throat. "No one can stop the madness. That means that you must be lying. I admire deception, but find it terribly annoying when done to me. Liars have to go down a different path to crazy."

With a flick of his wrist, the Joker brought the knife out of his victim's mouth, slicing open the man's cheek. With a scream, heavily distorted by blood, and the new opening in his face, the guard fell to the ground, clutching his new mark, branding him forever as one of the Joker's. Ignoring him, the Joker gestured toward the door.

"Well? Open it. Now, if you please."

The other guard did as he was told, fumbling with the key, his hands shaking violently. Sweat poured down his forehead, but he finally got it open. As the Joker passed by, he pinched the man's cheek in what might have been interpreted as an annoying relative, but what was a painful reminder that he could follow the same fate as his companion.

"Leave me alone with her, I'll give her pretty little head something to resist," the Joker called, laughing manically. The laughter didn't stop until the iron door swung shut with a muffled boom, cutting off the sound.

Nightwing realized that his fists were clenched so tightly his fingers hurt, his hatred for the Joker somehow, impossibly, increasing even more. His hand slid along his gauntlet and he stepped swiftly around the corner, firing a small canister, which burst when it hit the ground, sleeping gas knocking out the three guards surrounding the door. The two still standing collapsed to the ground, unconscious, while the third seemed to relax, his whimpers slowly dying out. While Nightwing retrieved the key to open the door, he couldn't help thinking about what the Joker was doing to Huntress. He had to get in there right now, before the madman did any lasting damage. He could feel his emotions clouding his judgment and yet he was powerless to stop it, his rage toward the Joker and his concern for Huntress overpowering his sense of reason, all of his training. Inserting the key into the lock, Nightwing took a deep breath before bursting into the room, more than ready for this to finally end.

The door struck the wall with the crash of metal and concrete. The Joker had Huntress trapped in a corner, reaching for her mask. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were wide with fear. She looked terrible and beautiful at the same time and a sharp knife seemed to slide into Nightwing's heart. The Joker's head snapped around, his hand still stretched toward Huntress. His long green hair swept over his face before revealing his eyes, eyes that lead to a soul trapped in the shadows of insanity, surrounded by dark circles, his skin starkly white like that of a skeleton, his seemingly bloody mouth leading to hideous scars that stretched up as if he were perpetually grinning. It was only a few steps before Nightwing was upon him, his fist eagerly seeking his foe. The Joker turned with the blow and Nightwing's fist struck the wall and he cried out as his broken thumb was jarred. A knife flashed beneath his jaw, but Nightwing stepped back, deflecting the blade. The Joker's fist slammed into his stomach and he doubled over before being kicked onto his back. The Joker's boot came crashing down, but Nightwing rolled out of the way. Sweeping his enemy's legs out from under him, Nightwing took the opportunity to stand as the Joker regained his feet and they stood facing each other. The Joker tossed his switchblade from one hand to the other, a wicked smile forming upon his lips.

"My, my, look who has come to pay me a visit. Can it be? Is it the little songbird all grown up?" The Joker laughed. "I must say, the costume is an improvement. But tell me, why so serious?"

"You're going to pay for all you've done," Nightwing snarled.

"Is that a fact?"

Leaping at the Joker, Nightwing pulled back his arm to deliver a blow that would break the clown's face for good. Stepping back, Joker grabbed Huntress, dragging her from the corner to her feet, a blade flashing beneath her jaw. Nightwing stopped himself in his mad rush, curses rebounding within his skull, his soul crying out for the justice that was so close and yet so very far away. Frustration was tearing him apart, he felt as though his head would shatter from the pressure. His fist trembled, adrenaline coursing through his veins, crying out for action. When the Joker spoke, he knew his hatred for the abomination before him could never be any greater.

"What's this? Afraid to make one small sacrifice to get what you want? And you think I'm mad!" Laughter reverberated off the walls, mocking him, tearing him down to never be brought back up.

"I swear I'll…!"

"… You'll what? Stand there and do absolutely nothing? Trapped in your own heroism? What's the matter? Afraid to sacrifice a life? Think she's innocent do you?"

Memories of his conversations with Huntress came back to him. Her indifference to death. "No one's innocent."

"That's the first intelligent thing you've said so far, you confused little songbird." Nightwing's eyes narrowed further and his hand twitched. The Joker smiled. "Hit a little nerve did I? Remember when we first met? What fun we had! How's the scar?"

Nightwing took a step forward, a growl like a furious dog escaping his throat.

"Oh no, that's not how this works," Joker sneered, pressing the blade into Huntress's throat, tilting her head back. "Obviously you're confused, so let me tell you how this is going to go. I'm going to take nice itty bitty steps toward that door right over there and then I'm going to escape your batty clutches with this lovely lady as my hostage." He leaned in to sniff Huntress's hair. "She seems rather delicious don't you think?"

"You sicken me," Nightwing spat.

"You're not the first," laughed Joker, taking a step towards the door, never for a moment lessening his grip on Huntress or the knife.

Nightwing stood, powerless to stop him as he did exactly what he said he would do. The Joker was going to escape. Again. With Huntress in his clutches. Nightwing couldn't allow it, but how could he stop it? Where was Batman? Where was the Dark Knight when he was needed most? Why couldn't Nightwing have put aside their differences? Why did he go off on his own? Again. He cared nothing for his own life, but he couldn't let Huntress pay for his stupidity. Nightwing followed Joker to the doorway, the clown oblivious to the bodies of his men as he stepped over and on them, facing Nightwing as he backed down the hallway.

"Feel free to stop right there," Joker said as Nightwing began to take a step out of the doorway. "That is, if you want her to live." The knife penetrated Huntress's soft skin, a trickle of blood flowing down her throat. The Joker grinned in the way only he could. He knew he had won. He disappeared down the hallway and around the corner, Nightwing never moving a muscle.

As soon as he was gone, Nightwing raised his gauntlet, activating the built-in communicator. He was already on the move when Batman's answered. "Nightwing?"

Nightwing was in no mood for chatting. "Joker has Huntress. He's trying to escape. We're in the basement."

"I'm on my way."

"Don't let him see you. He doesn't know you're here yet."

Running silently down the hallway, Nightwing checked around the corner before continuing. He only hoped the Joker would leave the way they had come in and that there wasn't another way out. His fears were realized as he caught sight of a drop of blood in a hallway he hadn't been in before. This wouldn't be easy. He alerted the Dark Knight to the change in the situation and followed the dark hallway; the lights here placed less frequently, shadows filling the spaces between the naked light bulbs. Worry gnawed at his stomach that he wouldn't be able to follow them, but for some reason there weren't any passages leading away from the main one, the hallway twisting and turning, but never ending and never branching out. The path neither went up or down, continuing on the same plane. Suddenly, Nightwing turned a corner and saw light up ahead. It wasn't artificial light, but the light of early dawn. There was a way out and it was close. Nightwing quickened his pace, the square of light growing larger with every step. He caught sight of the river and knew exactly how the Joker planned on escaping. Suddenly an explosion shook the tunnel, dust raining down from the ceiling, the concrete walls, floor and ceiling up ahead shattering, pieces flying in every direction, the dirt above the ceiling caving in, filling the tunnel. Nightwing flew back, tumbling along the ground, the earth shaking beneath him. Coughing and rubbing his eyes, dust in his eyes and throat, Nightwing raised his head. Pain racked his shoulder from where a concrete block had struck him, but even greater was the pain in his soul. The explosion had done its work. The exit was completely blocked.


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

I can't believe it. It doesn't even make sense. Groaning, I sink back to the ground. My shoulder feels broken and so does by heart. I've failed. The Joker has escaped. I failed to save Huntress. What will he do now? I failed to enact my vengeance against the Joker. What will he do to Huntress? To my city? I have failed. Batman's voice comes to me over the communicator. No, the sound isn't coming from my gauntlet, but from behind me, over me. The Batman is here. With his help, I regain my feet, crying out in pain as he touches my shoulder. Few can stand the Dark Knight's dark gaze. I am one of the few. But right now, I can't bear to look at him. Can't bear to see the look of anger, of disappointment. What am I thinking? It's as if I am Robin again. But I'm not. I am Nightwing and the Batman is not my father. My father was murdered. Both my parents were; the Batman only took me in. The Joker's words echo in my head. _"Oh, that's right, your daddy's dead. The bat just took you in to use you and turn you into one of his own." _I had told him he was lying. Was he?

Without a word, Nightwing stepped past Batman, walking back the way he had come, defeat heavy upon his shoulders. The Dark Knight was only a step behind him.

"What are you doing?" he growled.

Nightwing glanced back at him; his eyes hollow and said not a word.

Batman made a sound in his throat as if he were disgusted. "You've given up."

"What choice do I have?"

"The choice you've always had. To battle on even when you're beaten and bloody."

"I'm tired. I'm tired of being defeated, of being so close to victory and having it snatched away. I'm tired of the Joker always winning."

"That block must have hit you in the head. You say you're tired of Joker winning? So what, you're going to let him?"

Anger replaced apathy, like the restless calm being driven out by the raging storm. "How can you be so blind? He's beaten us! Thwarted me at every turn! Ever since I was a kid, he's always won! You might beat him for a little while, but he would always come back stronger than before. He's left me with scars. And not just scars across my body. My mind and soul are tired of always fighting, always struggling, never finding peace. I just want to be done with him, one way or the other."

Silence stretched between them for a few moments before Batman replied. "Fine. You want to leave Gotham to that madman, leave Huntress to his evil clutches? Fine. If it will give you peace then take off that mask right now. Take off your mask and walk away. I'll never ask you to come back. You're done."

I turn away, anger coursing through my veins. My head feels like it's going to explode. I'm angry, tired, unable to give up, so desperate to give in. Will it give me peace? I know it won't. I know that the only way I'll find peace is if I do what I said. I have to be done with the Joker one way or the other. One of us has to die, which means I'll win or die trying. I have to return to the fray once more. Only once more. It's time for the final battle. It's either Joker or me now. One of us will die. I turn back to the Dark Knight and we stare each other down.

Finally, Nightwing spoke. "Joker's long gone by now. Did you find Gordon?"

"Yes. He got away."

"Good. Then we should return to the cave. We have some planning to do."

* * *

"Beautiful insanity," Joker murmured, grinning as he stepped behind the sentry and slit his throat, long and slow, savoring the scream before it was cut off. Another guard came running and one of the Joker's men shot him, the man collapsing to the ground. Stepping over the corpses, Joker led the way through the gate into Arkham Asylum. They crossed the yard unopposed and Joker skipped the last few steps to the door where he knocked loudly before leaning against the wall. The door opened and Joker stuck his gun around the corner and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed down the hallway and the madman pushed the wounded security guard out of his way as he walked past, the man falling to the floor. A gunshot behind him caused him to smile through the perpetually grinning mask of his face. That man wouldn't rise again.

"Well, come on out, nothing to fear, my friend." Joker made a wide gesture, holding the door to the cell open. Scarecrow stepped into the hallway and Joker held out a mask like a burlap sack with eyeholes and a stitched mouth. "I picked this up on the way here. I hope you like it."

Scarecrow pulled his mask over his face. "I admit, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show up."

Joker wore a look of mock indignation. "Me? Not show up to my own party? This is a rather fantastic place, isn't it? I like it. It's so… me. Besides," he said, throwing his arm around Scarecrow's shoulder, "I never leave a friend behind. Apparently not stupid allies either since you're no friend."

Laughing, Joker pushed Scarecrow out of his way, prancing down the hallway before turning back to him, still walking backwards. "My men are even now taking this place over. This isn't a rescue; this is a change of authority. This place is now mine, mine and all mine."

"Good," Scarecrow replied, his thin, clear voice in drastic comparison with the Joker's wild one. "Are they releasing my men as well?"

"Naturally. Together, our forces are doubled. What with that and our new hideout, as well as some extra special leverage, I don't see what our batty enemies plan to do. Whatever they decide, what fun it will be."

* * *

"Where would he have gone?"

Bruce laughed. "Where wouldn't he have gone? The Joker seems to find refuge in ever inch of this city."

A scowl crossed Dick's face and he leaned against the wall, his arms folded. "True enough. So where do we go from here?"

Leaning back in his chair, Bruce pondered the question. "Gordon's fine, he wasn't given a dose of the gas so he has a few injuries to recover from but he'll be okay. Joker still has Huntress, which isn't good no matter which way you look at it. Not only that, but her mind is slowly slipping away, replaced by whatever madness is eating away at her. So whatever we do, it must be done quickly."

A spark of hope interrupted the dismal thought. "I overheard Joker and his men talking and Huntress seems to be putting up a good fight. Joker seemed to think that she should have gone insane by now, but she hasn't and that angered him which is why he unknowingly led me to her." Dick trailed off, thinking. _He led me straight to her and I still couldn't save her. _

Bruce stood and moved to the case that held his armor, the mask by far the most prominent feature.

"What are you doing?" Dick asked.

"I need to check on Gordon."

"You said he was fine."

Bruce turned to look at Dick over his shoulder. "Think. Gordon was held prisoner by the Joker. Not very long, but he might have some clues as to the Joker's next move."

Nodding, Dick grabbed his mask from the desk, never having removed his costume, his interest suddenly piqued. "I'll come with you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, beats sitting around here waiting for you. I'm done with that and there aren't any other leads."

Bruce nodded and opened the bulletproof glass case and removed his armor. Within minutes they were ready to move out. "What do you think of the gauntlets?" Batman asked as they walked across the cave toward a dark silhouette.

"Considering I'm able to punch things even with jacked up thumbs, I'd say they're serving their purpose."

"What about the extra capabilities?"

An image flared across Nightwing's mind, a grappling hook wrapping around a man's throat. The sound of the body hitting the ground lingered in his ears. He shook himself, willing the memory to leave him. Shrugging, he said, "They work."

* * *

A light pierced the darkness and the Dark Knight scowled in confusion. "What's going on?" Nightwing asked, gazing up at the light they were swiftly moving towards, their vehicle a dark form drifting through the darkness.

"I don't know," Batman growled. "But I know what it means."

Nightwing knew all too well what it meant. There was trouble afoot. The form of a bat could be seen projected into the clouds, a halo of ghostly light surrounding it.

* * *

Police Commissioner Gordon stood on the rooftop, gazing up at the bat illuminated in the heavens. Turning, he jumped backwards, his heart racing. "I'll never get used to that," he muttered under his breath, annoyed.

"What's going on?" the Dark Knight asked, his cape billowing out behind him. "Why did you call us here?"

"Us?" Gordon asked, his eyebrows rising.

"Is it connected with the Joker?" inquired Nightwing, stepping out from behind Batman, the cloak having provided ample concealment. He had forgotten how fun that was.

Gordon's surprise turned into a darker mood as he gestured widely. "Of course it has to do with the Joker. What doesn't these days? But you're not going to believe what happened."

"Try me," Batman growled.

Gordon hesitated before pointing into the distance. "Joker has taken over Arkham Asylum. He's freed the inmates and turned it into a fortress."

Nightwing felt his head reel. Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't that. Even Batman was taken aback. Most people wouldn't notice the change in his mood, but Nightwing saw it.

"Well," Gordon asked, his tone rising, "what are we going to do?"

Nightwing was wondering the same thing. It was hard enough to get into Arkham Asylum without it being defended by perhaps ten times the number of guards, all of them the Joker's men. He couldn't imagine a worse situation.

"That's not all," Gordon continued. "Scarecrow and his men were locked away there as well. We have every reason to assume they've joined forces."

Nightwing threw up his hands in disbelief and stalked away, resting his hands on the low wall that surrounded the rooftop; he gazed at the lights below without really seeing anything. Batman and Gordon were talking, but he was only vaguely listening, his mind churning like the raging ocean. Suddenly he spun around, interrupting whatever they had been discussing. "Was everyone connected with Arkham there at the time?"

"Probably not," Gordon replied, still somewhat shocked at the sudden interruption.

"Nightwing, what are you thinking?" Batman asked.

"We need to find someone, a high ranking staff member or better yet, one of the people who designed the building."

"I don't…" Gordon began.

"What if there's a secret entrance?" Nightwing said, cutting him off. "It wouldn't surprise me with a place like Arkham Asylum."

Gordon appeared incredulous, but Batman was obviously following Nightwing's trail of thought.

"It wouldn't even have to be secret exactly," Nightwing continued. "Just something that Joker wouldn't know about. Or maybe even a sewer tunnel or maintenance hatch."

Turning to Gordon, Batman said, "Get your men to look into this, but only people you trust. Any word that leaks out could put the mission in danger. We'll be looking as well. You know how to contact us if you find anything."

Gordon nodded and pulled a switch, realizing for the first time that the spotlight was still on. By the time he turned around, the vigilantes were gone. "I hate it when they do that," he grumbled.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

The plan sounded solid. It sounded easy. But those were just words. Actually finding someone intimately connected with Arkham Asylum and privy to its secrets would be far more difficult. How many days had it been since Joker first left his calling card at the scene of a minor disturbance? I've lost count, but so much has happened since then. So much in so little time. But I can feel the end coming, so close I can almost taste it, hear its voice calling to me from the darkness. My enemy has chosen to barricade himself in a fortress and while it is almost impossible to get in, neither is it easy to escape. This will end one way or the other. No more running, no more escapes or diversions. A final battle. One more fight and this war will end. But first the battle must begin and before it begins I must find my way into this fortress. I cannot fail. There is far too much at stake.

Nightwing leaned over the keyboard, studying a large screen as a list of names flew by almost faster than he could read them. Two monitors on either side of him were running similar searches, pulling names from the database that could be connected to what he was looking for. Bruce had left some time ago, but Nightwing wasn't sure where he had gone. He hadn't noticed him don his armor, so perhaps he was doing some investigating as Bruce Wayne.

The rush of information and the concentration it took to take everything in proved too much of a strain and Nightwing fell back into a chair with a frustrated sigh. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. _Who_ he was looking for. The computer would give him the likeliest suspects after it had finished its search and he would just have to wait until then. However the prospect of sitting around doing nothing was maddening. What was Bruce doing? He had far more experience than Nightwing and had dealt with Arkham Asylum many times before. If anything came of this plan, it would likely come from Bruce.

Suddenly an idea entered his head. Or rather, a name. Helena Bertinelli. When he had gone to her looking for information she had known almost too much. The scene in the dark alley replayed in his mind. She had told him she had connections with the mafia. But there had been more. He had been sure of it then and he was sure of it now. He remembered what she said when he had mentioned this.

_"I have other ways. Other friends in high places."_

Again Nightwing couldn't help being reminded of Bruce Wayne's habit of referring to Batman as his powerful friend. She was more than she appeared and doubtless she had connections with Arkham Asylum, however distant.

However, his excitement began to dwindle as he realized he was no closer to an answer than before. Though he now had a name, he still didn't have a location. Last time they had met in an alley. She had obviously gone there specifically to talk to him, which meant that she had probably picked the spot because it was remote and wouldn't lead back to her. So the question remained. How to find someone who didn't want to be found? Nightwing leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed, thinking. Last time he had gone to Gordon, but Gordon only had the location because Helena gave it to him. She had wanted to be found. So how could he make her want to reveal herself? Again the question was pointless, as he had no way of contacting her. His eyes drifted open and he stared at the names rushing by on the monitor. What sort of search could he run to find her? Connections with the mafia perhaps? The chances of coming up with a satisfactory answer were small indeed, but any answer at all would be welcome.

The keys clicked beneath his fingers as he typed, the screen revealing nothing but code for a few moments as it switched gears, beginning to run the new search. Another lengthy list of names appeared, scrolling swiftly by. However, this time, names had already begun to fly out of the main list into a list of suspects. Apparently finding people connected with the mafia was a lot easier than finding people connected with Arkham Asylum, which didn't surprise him. As the search continued, Nightwing examined a few of the names.

The first dozen or so didn't spark any sort of memory or gut feeling. Unfortunately he had little more to base his suspicions on since he had very little knowledge of the mafia. Suddenly his breath caught in his throat. He glanced at the name he had clicked. Sal. Then he glanced back at the small image of the suspect in question. As with most of the pictures, the person being studied hadn't known someone was observing him and so it was neither clear, nor best situated. However, he was sure this man was the muscular bodyguard who had accompanied Helena Bertinelli. He had a lead. All other searches were discarded as he began cross-referencing all data he could pull on Helena's bodyguard.

A satisfied smirk drifted across his face. He had a location.

Standing quickly, Nightwing cast one last glance at the monitors, still shifting through piles of data, and then took off at a steady run toward his motorcycle.

* * *

It was raining. The heavens had opened up to unleash their torrent, dark clouds giving way to a deluge. His prey, the man called Sal, stood below him on the sidewalk, Nightwing watching from a rooftop. He stood talking to another more suspicious looking character and they seemed to be arguing, a calm discussion becoming increasingly heated. Finally Sal turned with an angry gesture and stalked away. Nightwing followed.

Out of the darkness came a cord, which wrapped around Sal's ankle and jerked him upward. Nightwing had slung the grappling hook over the arm of a short crane and leaped off the rooftop, plummeting toward the earth as Sal was flung upward. They met about halfway, Nightwing holding onto the wire with one hand and grasping Sal, who was hanging upside down, by the collar with the other.

"Where's Helena Bertinelli?" Nightwing growled, resting his feet on a window ledge and glaring down at his victim.

"Go to hell!" Sal snarled.

"This isn't a game," Nightwing interrupted. "If you don't give me an answer, I'll let you fall."

"Then let me fall, because I don't know where she is."

The dark vigilante gazed into the man's eyes. He seemed to be telling the truth. Frustrated, Nightwing asked, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I need to talk to her. There are lives at stake."

Sal hesitated. "Let me down. Then we'll talk."

After a moment, Nightwing nodded. "Fine."

* * *

Nightwing stood with his arms crossed, waiting for an answer. Sal regarded with him with a cautious expression, his body language speaking of a willingness to fight if it came to that. However, it was almost as if he wanted to tell Nightwing what he wanted to know and this was curious indeed.

"Last time I saw her?"

Nightwing nodded.

"Four days ago."

"Four days?"

Sal nodded.

So much had happened in so little time that time had almost lost meaning, the days and nights blending together, forming a cacophony of pain, loss, regret, frustration and anger. Nightwing sent his mind back four days, trying to remember the events of that day. "Where did she go?" Nightwing asked.

After a moment's hesitation, Sal said simply, "She left, alone, and didn't come back."

He was getting too close to a closely guarded secret; Nightwing could sense that. Something was irritating him, scratching at the edge of his brain, shouting for attention and yet without a clear reason for doing so. Something was bothering him. A memory, a feeling, an impression. Helena saying she had other ways. Other friends in high places. The similarities between the way she said it and how Bruce talked about the Batman. Four days ago. Something clicked. Something that had been crying out to be recognized yet was doing its best to continue its secret. Four days ago he had been captured by Scarecrow. Four days ago Huntress had been taken. The revelation stunned him, yet wasn't as shocking as it should have been. Somehow he had recognized the similarities without fully realizing it. The dark hair, the withdrawn look in her eyes. Her natural charm and the act she maintained that everything was fine. Her attitude toward death and the slight familiarity when she had met him on the rooftops of Arkham Asylum.

"Huntress," Nightwing murmured.

Sal regarded him with a quizzical expression, not quite catching what he had said.

Nightwing raised his head, staring Sal right in the eye, and repeated himself, this time louder and with more certainty. "I know who she is. Her name is Huntress."

"How…" Sal began, his eyes narrowed.

"Listen to me," Nightwing said, cutting him off. "We don't have much time. Huntress was captured by Scarecrow and is now a prisoner of the Joker. She's being held in Arkham Asylum."

"Why there?" Sal asked, suspicion heavy in his voice.

The Joker has taken it over and is using it as his new fortress."

"Is that so?" Sal asked, scratching the stubble on his chin. "The arrogant figlio di un cane." Nightwing wasn't sure exactly what the insult meant, but he was sure he agreed with it. "So what are we going to do about that?" Sal asked.

"I was hoping you could tell me," Nightwing replied, though Sal might've been talking more to himself than to him.

"And what would I know of this?"

"Actually it was Helena I wanted to find, but obviously that's no longer an option. But you must have a whole network of contacts. Surely one of those knows something about Arkham that would help us."

"You make it sound as if we're on the same team. But are we?" Sal stepped closer, staring Nightwing down. "How do I know you won't rat me out after I help you?"

Nightwing held his gaze. "Because we share a common goal."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"Huntress… Helena's best interests. Unless I'm wrong, and I'm not, you care about her. You're more than just a bodyguard, aren't you?"

"I've looked out for her for years. Ever since her parents were murdered. But who are you? How do I know you want to help her?"

Nightwing sighed and glanced away. "This isn't exactly something that can be proven."

"Try."

Nightwing faced Sal, the bodyguard's arms crossed, his face a stony mask as he waited for the vigilante to speak.

Finally, Nightwing began. "We were working together to defeat Scarecrow and Joker. The first time I met Huntress was on the roof of Arkham Asylum right after I discovered one of the inmates brutally murdered. We escaped together and went after Scarecrow. It's… it's a long story…"

"Tell it. I've got time."

Nightwing hesitated and then agreed.

And so he told the story of how they discovered the abandoned theater. How they had been discovered and captured, of Batman coming to rescue them, but Huntress disappearing in the midst of the battle. How he had searched for her and found her in a labyrinth below an old factory. His tone became increasingly bitter as he recounted how he and the Joker had fought and the madman had used Huntress as leverage against him. The most difficult part was telling of the explosion, of how he had been unable to follow them. He finally ended with describing the current situation with Joker and Scarecrow defending Arkham Asylum and holding Huntress hostage there. As he had warned Sal, the story was long, but also incredibly painful to relive. By the time he ended, tears had formed in his eyes. Tears of rage and pain, of frustration and loss. He turned away and forced them back, unwilling to let the mobster see him in a moment of weakness.

"I believe you."

The sudden voice in the silence startled him just as much as the words surprised him. Nightwing turned back to see Sal staring at the ground. The bodyguard lifted his head and looked Nightwing in the eye.

"Not only do I believe you. I'll help you."

Something flickered in Nightwing's heart that hadn't in a long time. Hope.


End file.
